


come crash [extended cut]

by Crossley



Series: 3H Kink Meme [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Developing Friendships, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Has One Eye and Zero Boundaries, Dimitri/Ashen Wolves, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Exhibitionism, Hapi/Constance - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Sexual Slavery, Spanking, Sub Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, The Existential Dilemma of Falling In Love With Your Semi-Accidental Sex Slave, Trauma, Verbal Humiliation, Yuri Leclerc Is Screaming Internally (And Externally), Yuri/Ashen Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24088711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossley/pseuds/Crossley
Summary: “Is that truly all you wish of me?” Dimitri asks, staring down at his lap. Damp bangs hang over his face.Choose your next words carefully,the professor’s voice warns in Yuri's mind, and to his credit, Yuri tries. Honest to goddess, he fuckingtries.“I know what it’s like to sell what you’ve sold. I’m not buying.”He picks up his wine and sips as Dimitri answers with, “I’ve been told my mouth is quite good.”Yuri spit-takes, wine splattering across the table. “Seiros’s left tit, what iswrongwith you?”Yuri has given the ex-Prince of Faerghus every opportunity tonotbecome his sex slave. Dimitri refuses to accept any of them.(Kink meme fill for a prostitute!Dimitri in Abyss with Yuri trying to help him, but Dimitri insists on "paying him back" anyway. Featuring horny/horrified Yuri, Dimitri's gold-medal mental gymnastics, and the Ashen Wolves watching with popcorn. Cleaned up from the original, with extended versions of several scenes.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ashen Wolves Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: 3H Kink Meme [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728610
Comments: 60
Kudos: 221
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings.** Prostitution (duh), discussion of prior rape/non-con and associated injuries, present dubious consent, mental illness, mental/emotional manipulation, humiliation, degradation, public sex/exhibitionism, extremely ableist language, under-negotiated kink, spanking, sexual slavery, master/slave dynamic.
> 
> [The original prompt](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=171996#cmt171996) as follows:
>
>> At some point during the timeskip (maybe a few months before Byleth wakes up and finds Dimitri), Dimitri ends up in Abyss. At first he makes enough money to get by selling scraps of materials and equipment he steals from Imperial camps he attacks but that's not enough and it isn't long before some shady Abyss denizens start offering a room or meals in exchange for sucking them off or letting them have sex with him. His self worth has plummeted to pretty much nothing by this point so anything that lets him meet the bare minimum requirements of staying alive is acceptable.
>> 
>> Yuri notices all this going on and it doesn't take him long to realize who this handsome man is, and his own history of prostitution gives him mixed feelings on it. He's got no problem with people who choose this for themselves (and he doesn't usually have much sympathy for down on their luck nobles) but he remembers how much he hated it, and he can tell Dimitri's not exactly in a good mindset for this to be something he wants. Yuri intervenes and he lets Dimitri stay with him instead, but Dimitri is still a good boy at heart who wants to earn his keep and he knows what people want from him.
>> 
>> Whatever else is up to you, I'm just dying for these two to interact!
> 
> __
> 
> __  
> **And now I fucking live here.**
> 
> Title from [Come Crash by A.C. Newman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MSMe8e4upE), that song's whole vibe is the fic.

Yuri hears of the new arrival within two hours of his crossing the threshold. Sick with a fever, the gate runner says, but growls and snaps like a wounded animal at anyone who tries to approach him. It takes thirty-seven hours for Hapi to finish investigating and tell him who their mysterious new denizen _really_ is, and thirty more hours after that for Yuri to find the former Crown Prince of Faerghus, now a criminal on the run, collapsed in one of the outer tunnels. He shivers and sweats and mumbles, delirious from oozing infections in his right eye and left leg.

He swipes the wet hair off Dimitri's face. He remembers the guy, both from a distance at King Lambert’s funeral and up close during Their Highness’ little adventure underground with the professor. Proud stick-up-his-ass type, but he took a shine to Abyss, called it "lovely." Yuri took it as a dumb rich pretty boy who didn’t know any better, but as dumb rich pretty boys went, that was benign.

It seems _this_ dumb rich pretty boy now knows better, and he’s washed up the same place as the other losers and outcasts on the continent. Fódlan throws people away every day, and Yuri’s seen it too many times to care any longer.

But while Yuri might not care, there’s someone who would. Someone Yuri cares about, and hopes is still out there, no matter how implausible that is. It’s Yuri’s shit luck he’s got that stupid hope, and the stupid hope gives him the stupid urge to hold the fort down until the professor returns and cleans up the mess Edelgard’s made of Fódlan.

The healer that Yuri hires clears the infection in time to save the leg, but the eye is long gone. At least he’s able to clean up the excess scar tissue and stitch the area shut. Yuri’s told the leg will make a full recovery in a few weeks if properly tended. That’s the least Yuri can do, and he suspects the not-so-dead ex-Crown Prince of Faerghus wouldn't even let him do that much if he were conscious.

Doesn't stop Yuri from swiping Dimitri's coin purse before he dumps him back in the alley. Hey, the healer’s got to get paid.

* * *

Dimitri’s stuck in the meantime. Yuri gets a sense he doesn’t see a point in leaving, that he thinks there’s nowhere else he can go. Which is stupid, because he’s a _prince_ , and princes can always find someone who will put them up for the privilege of kissing their asses. Guy’s just being stubborn.

( _Or maybe you should’ve left him some of his coin,_ the professor’s voice hisses in the back of his skull. Figures it’d be the professor playing the voice of his conscience in this bad morality play, but Yuri told morality to fuck off years ago.)

The locals start out sympathetic. They toss him scraps and pennies out of pity. It’s enough to get by and find shelter most nights. Abyss takes care of its own best it can, and Dimitri looks like a lifer if you’re not paying attention. Yuri toys with approaching him about a job offer once he’s stable on the leg. He’ll have some trouble with the eye, but even a minor crest makes him the heaviest hitter in any engagement.

As Dimitri recovers, however, his reputation nosedives from sadsack to scary. He snarls and growls at passersby who give him coin, and screams in his sleep. One of his guards report Dimitri staring into space for hours, another that he babbles at people who aren’t there. Even that wouldn’t put off Abyss denizens too much… until the crest flashes while he punches a tunnel wall one day, shaking the area like a quake spell, and no one in town wants to fuck with _that._

They get a lot of those in Abyss, the ones sick like Dimitri’s sick. No one on the surface wants them, so they’re a dime a dozen here. They’re the hardest to help because they fight you every inch of the way. If he were still a prince, there’d be rooms of people covering for his ass, or, if things spiraled too much, making excuses while he was locked in some cushy countryside estate.

(Maybe being a rich prince is how he got this way. If he’d been crowned king, the nobles would have called him “quirky” or “eccentric” while they schemed to take advantage of his weakness. Well, Dimitri's not rich or a prince anymore, so now he's just crazy.)

* * *

Then one day the armor’s gone, although he’s still wrapped in that filthy blue cape of his. Yuri has Balthus make some inquiries. They track down the merchant who bought it, and Balthus helps Yuri “negotiate” a reasonable price.

It’s an ultralight Duscur-steel alloy with the Blaiddyd Crest etched into the breastplate and multiple enchantments woven into the armor. The enchantments Yuri’s tracking spell uncovers are the real value: anti-piercing aura, boosted crest activation to promote rapid regenerative healing, even anti-miasmic shielding to prevent corrosion and nullify poisons. The master magesmiths who crafted it must’ve spent close to a decade working the enchantments into the steel before shaping it, then another year to make the armor recognize the Blaiddyd crest’s signature aura so it will shape itself to the wearer. The raw steel alone is worth enough to feed the tens of thousands of Abyss denizens for a _year_. It’s a king’s war plate, meant for leading the charge into battle, far more precious to the right buyers than any gold-filigree ceremonial plate might be.

Dimitri is never going to be a king, so what use is it to him?

As Yuri checks through his records for a magesmith with the talent and the discretion to launder the armor for sale on the black market, he sees the professor, solemn and sad, in the corner of his eye. It’s his imagination playing tricks on him, he knows that, but even when he closes his eyes, the professor haunts him.

“Fucking _fine,_ ” he snaps at the shade, throwing the gauntlet across his room.

* * *

"You gonna do something about him?" Hapi asks a few weeks later as she’s sinking onto Yuri’s cock. It’s rare he can get Hapi to _do_ anything in bed. She’s a pillow _queen_ , fussing and wailing until Yuri licks her cunt or fucks her just to make her stop. So he takes advantage of when she’s in a peppy mood.

Hapi’s peppy moods, however, come with her annoying habit of trying to carry on a normal conversation while he’s inside her.

Yuri crosses his arms behind his head. Based on their last patrol, the leg and the eye have mostly healed, even without proper care. (Crests, man.) He should be good to leave.

He hasn’t. He’s lost more weight since he arrived, and drifted farther from the center of town into one of the many alleyway tunnels where the hardest-luck cases lie waiting to die. Seems unnecessary to Yuri.

"Why is it my job?" Yuri asks, tweaking one of Hapi’s tits. She smacks his hand. "You do something."

Hapi rolls her eyes as she bounces on his cock. "Charity’s not my thing, Yuri-bird, it's yours."

* * *

"If we ransomed him to the Emperor," Constance muses, "I could use the funds to restore House Nuvelle and act as a cover for an expansion of the Mockingbirds' operation!"

Yuri glares at her. Was this "brilliant" idea of hers really worth stopping stroking his dick right before he was done?

"Next idea, Coco," Hapi says. She settles back in between Constance’s legs.

* * *

"I'm starting to think I could take the guy in a fight," Balthus remarks as they stumble back from an investigation in a lotus eaters’ den, both wincing as they see the ex-prince's hunched figure mumbling to nothing, "and that _scares_ me."

* * *

And yeah, Yuri probably should do something about the guy. He looks like shit. Malnourished with a passel of new scars, greasy hair and ragged, filth-crusted clothing. An empty gaze and a mouth that keeps whispering to people no one else can see. He lays sunken into the dirt as if even the air wants to crush the life from him. It would break the professor's heart to see him this way, if the professor had one.

Dimitri needs help. Desperately.

But so does Old Lena, who can’t see Yuri’s smile anymore and risks breaking her hip again if she goes out for groceries. So do Jacky and Yara, who cough up blood if Yuri makes them laugh too hard. So do Penny and Frankie and Piper and Big Sal and Little Micah and everyone in this fucking shithole Yuri can't bring himself to leave behind.

Dimitri is just one of many, and unlike everyone else in Abyss, Dimitri had the sense to be born a prince instead of a beggar, even if somewhere along the way he fucked that up hard. Someone will come fetch him eventually, and sweep him off to wherever they take princes that are crazier than shithouse rats. Probably a throne room, with Fódlan’s garbage luck.

Which has still got to be better than here.

* * *

Someone does come, and Yuri breathes a sigh of relief.

Three days later, Dimitri's back in the dirt, and there's something freshly broken in his face, the same something that Yuri sees in the mirror every day.

* * *

"Look," Yuri once told Balthus over a jug of triple-strength Seiros Finest, "I don't give a shit what they say about letting people make their living however they want. Nobody dreamed about being a whore when they grew up."

(Well, except maybe nobles. Poor little rich boys and girls, all that money and power was _so hard_ on their fragile little minds, and they’d come looking to get fucked like they were trash, trash like the people they stepped on every day. Yuri liked those jobs, when they came around. More often his pretty face brought around the nobles who were mad that some piece of trash dared to climb out of the gutter and become special in their own right, like Dorothea Arnault. But climbing out of the gutter is one trick, and staying out another. They were too spoiled to wait until Dorothea’s price dropped again, so they took it out on Yuri.)

So yeah, maybe, _maybe_ it bugs him, that dead look in Dimitri’s eye when he stumbles back from a client. The one that says he’s checked out of Fódlan, gone to a place so deep inside his head that nothing can hurt him.

Yuri’s been there. What you learn is that place is a lie, and the damage keeps piling up while you’re too disconnected from yourself to care.

But Yuri got out, and he wasn’t even a prince.

So what’s Dimitri’s excuse?

* * *

Then one day, something breaks. Yuri’s not sure what.

Maybe it's the memory of the professor, sloe-eyed and solemn, their judgment heavy on Yuri's head. Maybe it's Hapi’s barely-suppressed sighs or Constance calculating how much they could ransom him for to the Empire, because what’s the difference between that and letting him die here in the slums, anyway?

(Dragging her into a sunbeam sparks a stream of horrified apologies that she ever suggested such an awful thing, which confirms she’s goading him. He thought that's what it was, but with Constance, you gotta check sometimes.)

Or maybe it's the night he walks into a tavern and there is the honest-to-goddess Prince of Faerghus underneath a table sucking off Fat Roger like his pencil dick’s an oasis in a desert. The look in his eye makes Yuri’s stomach cold, makes him wonder if this is even about hunger or shelter. Like maybe it’s about having someone fucking _look_ at him for five seconds with something other than pity.

Fat Roger, who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, smirks across the room, motioning to his companion. Later, he tells Yuri, “He’s moody and smells like shit, but he’s cheap, and he looks at you like you’re doing him a favor. Pat his head, tell him he’s done good, and he’ll let you do _anything_. Shit, maybe _he_ should be paying _me_.”

(It’s _probably_ not that.)

(Doesn’t stop Yuri from jerking off to the memory that night.)

* * *

The next day, Yuri yanks the newly-crowned Whore Prince of Faerghus up by his hair while he’s napping in his ‘favorite’ alleyway. Dimitri swings at him while growling, “What is the meaning of this?”

He still talks like old money underneath the animal noises, and that eases some of the pressure in Yuri’s chest. “Got a job for you.”

Dimitri’s enraged scowl falters when his eyes defog enough to recognize who’s holding him by the hair. The color drains from his face. “Yuri,” he rasps, eye dropping to the ground. “It’s… been some time.”

_Not as much as you think it has._

Yuri guides Dimitri to his suite of rooms in the Blackwater Inn, plain in decoration but with a few luxuries Yuri had brought in, like the down mattress and fox-fur blankets, and a large silvered mirror. He points to a pallet in the corner. “You sleep there, and the tavern downstairs will give you a bowl at morning and supper times.”

Swallowing, Dimitri nods. He’s hollow-eyed, ashen as he begins unlacing his ratty gambeson, head still fixed towards the ground.

 _Oh for fuck’s—_ Yuri puts his hand over Dimitri’s, stilling the motion. “This isn’t quid pro quo,” Yuri tells him. “You can stay for free.”

Dimitri blinks with that dumb rich kid face, but still doesn’t meet Yuri’s gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to,” Yuri replies, thinking of the professor. “Not everything’s about you, Your Highness.”

Dimitri’s cheeks burn with shame, but his voice is devoid of any warmth or kindness when he snarls, “Do not call me that again.”

“You don’t give the orders anymore.” Yuri pauses to see how Dimitri will react to that, but to his surprise, the ex-prince stills, his mouth slightly agape as his breath hitches. Then he recovers and sighs, resigning himself to reality. Good. That’ll make this easier.

He kicks the crate where he'd stored Dimitri’s armor towards him. “We might have jobs for you. Be ready to fight.”

Dimitri doesn’t answer him, just drops onto the pallet like a broken golem and lays there, staring into nothing.

Yuri rubs at the throbbing spot in his temple.

_Wherever you are, Professor, you’re gonna have your work cut out for you with this one._


	2. Chapter 2

Keeping Abyss running is two jobs in one. His first job, the one that makes the money, is managing the Mockingbirds’ extensive smuggling operation through the hundreds of miles of tunnels they control in the Oghma Mountains. Edelgard’s war, while terrible for almost everyone else, has been great for business. If the war goes on long enough, Yuri could end up one of the richest men in all Fódlan.

His second job, the money pit, is keeping Abyss running. Underground cities are still cities, and with Aelfric dead, the task of managing that city, with its high corruption, poor infrastructure, and crippling poverty, falls to Yuri to manage.

It keeps him and the rest of the Wolves busy. Abyss sucks, but Abyss embraced them when no one else would, so they return the favor.

Yuri’s up early most mornings and out late. Dimitri is lying on the pallet when Yuri leaves and again when Yuri returns, appearing to have not moved at all. He skips the morning and supper meals. Twice in the first week he wakes Yuri with his screaming in his sleep.

He didn’t bring the guy to his flat just to watch him starve to death, so Yuri brings home stacks of documents to review at night and in the early mornings. That way he can grab bowls of food downstairs and kick Dimitri until he stands up and sits with him at the table. Even then, he only swallows a few bites before going back to staring at his lap.

Dimitri swaddles himself in his cape, like a giant security blanket. If Yuri asks him questions, he’s either ignored, or receives mumbled words in response.

“Why didn’t you sell it?” Yuri asks Dimitri one too-early morning, when both of them should be sleeping. Being shit sleepers is one thing they have in common, although tonight’s wake-up was not by Yuri’s choice. “The snowlion pelt on that thing wouldn’t be as hot as the armor, and enchanted fabric’s always a big draw on the black market.”

Dimitri doesn’t look at Yuri, but Dimitri doesn’t look at anyone these days. Not at Hapi when she brings him supper, not at Constance when she dropped by and asked if she could use him as a control subject for fuck-knows-what, not even at Balthus when he came and offered to train with him, so he could learn to fight without his eye.

It’s quiet for so long that Yuri assumes he’s being ignored. Again.

“I wanted to die in my father’s colors,” Dimitri finally answers, his voice distant and flat, “even if it wasn’t on a battlefield. Foolish, I know.”

“Fucking stupid is what it is,” Yuri mutters, and Dimitri huffs, pretending to be asleep as the maids stir downstairs.

* * *

Hapi finally coaxes Dimitri into a bath, which lets them sneak his ratty things off to the rag seller. Yuri tosses him a simple black shirt and hose he picked up from a secondhand merchant. They’re a bit tight, framing his broad shoulders and a surprising amount of muscle. Freshly washed and with a bit more food in him, his elegant bone structure and plush mouth reemerge. With the eyepatch and his silly Academy haircut grown out a little, Constance calls him ‘rakishly handsome,’ which Hapi just calls ‘hot.’

Some of the effect is spoiled by Dimitri’s refusal to look anyone in the eye, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the ground. No one asks why. Fucked-up is the default in Abyss.

“I cannot continue to accept your charity when so many others in Abyss suffer,” Dimitri says over supper that night. Tonight’s meal is a hearty porridge with roots and bits of spiced meat. Nothing fancy, but rich and filling compared to standard Abyss fare. Dimitri has taken exactly three bites and looked like he was eating paste each time. Fucking rich nobles. “Tell me how you wish for me to repay you.”

Yuri sighs and puts down his spoon. For someone who’s been waited on his whole life, _guy will not let this go_. “We get sweeps from Imperial troops every couple months and my guys can’t keep them out,” Yuri suggests. Can’t deny the ex-prince is a beast with a… literally anything. Yuri once saw him rip a tree branch down and drive it through a man’s head like a javelin. A _tree branch._ With _leaves_ still sticking out of it. “We lose supplies, crops… people. You can go to town and let us raid the corpses after.”

“Is that truly all you wish of me?” Dimitri asks, staring down at his lap. Damp bangs hang over his face.

 _Choose your next words carefully,_ the professor’s voice warns in Yuri’s mind, and to his credit, Yuri tries. Honest to goddess, he fucking _tries_. “I know what it’s like to sell what you’ve sold. I’m not buying.”

He picks up his wine and sips as Dimitri answers with, “I’ve been told my mouth is quite good.”

Yuri spittakes, wine splattering across the table. “Seiros’s left tit, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Dimitri flushes, bits of red peeking through his bangs. “I… ”

“I’m starting to think you _want_ everyone to treat you like shit.” Not starting; Yuri’s been circling around that for a while. It’s bizarre to him. Being Rowe’s ward sucked because of Rowe, who loved reminding Yuri who held all the power, and his so-called “peers,” but the way everyone else treated him… okay, it was fucking awkward getting fawned over by people who wouldn’t have bothered to spit on him or his mother just a year before, but he wasn’t born to that life. Dimitri was, though, and even with the shit he’s been through, he started at the top of the heap. He should think the sun shines up his ass like Constance does (when there’s no actual sun around, anyway), not be offering to suck Yuri’s dick because he doesn’t think he’s doing his share around Abyss.

Which is another thing. If the guy wants to chip in around Abyss, Yuri needs competent guards, hunters, and scribes far more than he needs another whore, all of which Dimitri could handle even with the missing eye.

The obvious answer is that it’s some fucked-up rich kid fetish thing, but Yuri doesn’t think it’s that. Or that it’s _just_ that. The back of Yuri’s skull pounds whenever he tries to parse why Dimitri is so dead set on paying his non-existent “debt” in such a specific and degrading way. It’s the same pound he gets when he thinks about something best left in the past, so Yuri leaves it alone.

Also, based on the way the prince’s red-faced and squirming in his seat, fetish is somewhere on the list here. Which, yeah, rich types showing up at his door wanting to be treated like shit for a night isn’t new. Yuri’s got that routine on lock.

So fine. Dimitri is a gorgeous (ex-)prince who wants to pay back the food he’s “stealing” from the mouths of babes with his ass, and Yuri hasn’t gotten laid since whatever the fuck that drug-fueled frenzy of awkward was with Balthus when they went in to flush out that opium den. He hasn’t had a regular bed-warmer in a while, with Hapi too lazy, Constance too high-strung, and Balthus too in denial about not being straight, and he’s bored of jerking off. Yuri is only human, after all.

Besides, Yuri didn’t think through the whole “invite a guy with night terrors to stay in your rooms” part through. If he isn’t gonna be sleeping, he can at least be getting his dick wet.

“If we do this,” Yuri begins slowly, as if speaking too fast will spook Dimitri, because holy shit Yuri can’t believe he’s seriously proposing this to a fucking _prince_ , “I’d calculate the amount you owe, and I’d own your ass until it’s paid back in full. You run off on me and I’d hunt you down and add the costs to your debt. Clear?”

Dimitri nods, sharp and swift. Almost too swift. Yuri has the uncomfortable feeling that despite the terrible terms he’s set, Yuri might be the one getting screwed here, but Yuri can’t work out why.

“Before I sign anything, though, I want to sample the merchandise.” 

Dimitri starts to duck under the table, but Yuri pivots his chair to the side. He’s not Fat Roger, stuffing his face while stuffing someone else’s face.

Swallowing heavily, Dimitri stands up, shaking and hunched over as he kneels down between Yuri’s legs. He stares at Yuri’s crotch, doing nothing.

“You gonna get started anytime soon?” Yuri asks him, bemused.

Dimitri shrinks even more, which is weird for such a terrifying slice of human. “They usually… initiate that part.”

 _Macuil’s tiny nutsack, no wonder he’s such a cheap fuck._ “Looking like you’re going to your father's funeral isn’t exactly doing it for my dick, pal.”

Something hot and vicious flashes across Dimitri’s face as he glares at Yuri, the brief shock of his blue eye startling Yuri. Then the fire dies and crumbles to ash, and his head lolls downward again. With a tight nod, he takes out Yuri’s dick with rough, clumsy fingers, surprising for his station. Yuri stirs despite the awkwardness of whatever the fuck is happening here.

He always did like these jobs.

There’s a moment where Dimitri stares at his cock, the hair hanging over his good eye making his expression impossible to discern. He wets his lips, pink tongue sweeping over his red mouth in a slow, luscious curl, the lower lip dropping open and gleaming with spit. It’s so artless that Yuri is charmed despite himself.

Then Dimitri opens those red lips and slides Yuri’s cock into his mouth, and Yuri _gets_ it.

It’s not the mouth that’s good. The mouth needs serious work. A lot of enthusiasm, sure, but he can’t take all of Yuri without choking, there’s nowhere near enough spit, and there are a couple brushes with teeth that make Yuri cringe, more out of professional pride than real pain.

No, what makes Dimitri good is the _eye._

The _eye_ is pure, distilled need, as if Yuri’s somehow saving his life by letting him suck his dick, as if sucking Yuri’s dick is the achievement of a lifelong dream, as if sucking Yuri’s dick has unlocked the secret to eternal peace and happiness for all of Fódlan. The _eye_ is blissed up and blown-out, lid fluttering madly as it struggles between keeping that yearning, worshipful gaze on Yuri and rolling back with the sheer ecstasy of sucking Yuri’s dick.

Yuri takes pity and makes the choice for him. “Eye on me.”

He moans around Yuri’s cock at the order and fuck, okay, the mouth’s got more potential than Yuri first credited it with. But it’s the _eye_ that draws him, a thin, burning blue iris almost swallowed by the void, searing holes through Yuri’s psyche, remaking Yuri as Dimitri’s hero, his savior, his god. Maybe it’s a good thing Dimitri doesn’t have both eyes, or Yuri might start to hyperventilate with all that naked adoration pointed his way.

Yuri’s staring straight into that beautiful fucking eye when he yanks his dick out of Dimitri’s mouth and paints that face with his cum, careful not to aim too high and spoil its majesty. Dimitri, to his amazement, is completely unphased by this, content to scoop up any excess and lick it off his fingers with a guileless grace that cannot be taught.

 _Seiros’s left tit._ In another life, the Prince of Faerghus could’ve been the most expensive courtesan in Fódlan.

“Did I—did I do well?” Dimitri asks him with an uncertain bite of his lip.

Yuri almost starts babbling _yes yes fuck yes_ but catches himself in time. Dimitri’s still a noble. Can’t let him get full of himself. “It’ll do. I’ll draw the contract up in the morning.”

Dimitri nods at him, shaky and sad, but he doesn’t question Yuri further. Yuri almost apologizes.

Almost.

* * *

Yuri draws up a contract the next evening. He charges a fair share of his monthly rent and board costs, and prices Dimitri’s “services” closer to market rate. He adds several safety clauses, including no scars or permanent disfigurement. A modest monthly simple interest rate is added to incentivize Dimitri to provide equivalent services or move on quickly. An early termination clause allows him to end the agreement at any time with no penalty. With this contract, Dimitri can pay off his initial costs with a couple nights of service per week within the month, two if he wants more time between evenings. Afterwards, he can easily stockpile some cash while he figures out what to do with himself. It’ll get Dimitri back on his feet and the hell out of here.

 _It’s fair,_ Yuri thinks.

Then Yuri thinks of the eye.

So after heading downstairs for a pitcher of strong ale and a smoke, Yuri drafts a second contract that charges triple his full room and board costs, takes Dimitri’s original criminally low fees for sexual services and cuts them another thirty percent, and tacks on the cost of the already-paid healer for kicks. The variable interest rate on the principle, compounded continuously and based off vague and capricious-but-legal whims is the best, cruelest addition, even if he spends an extra hour working out sample rate calculations on a scratch sheet of paper. Dimitri could have his mouth permanently welded to Yuri’s dick and never hope to pay this off. Hell, he could be servicing Yuri’s Mockingbirds 24/7 and still not make a dent. (He adds the option to loan Dimitri’s services to any party of Yuri’s choosing, since this is all a joke anyway. Yuri’s no pimp.)

With the ball rolling, he adds on a magical tracking collar requirement, standard practice for many brothels in Fódlan; Yuri’s still got his old one shoved in a box somewhere. The ‘no permanent disfigurement’ clause returns, but from what Yuri’s seen, it’s a little late to bother avoiding scars, and he adds a piercing and tattoo rider. From there, Yuri keeps tacking on awful clause after awful clause, encroaching on nearly every aspect of Dimitri’s hypothetical daily existence until he can barely fucking _breathe_ without Yuri’s permission. The result is a jaunty mix of drug-fueled spank material and legal slavery, and Yuri isn’t high or drunk enough to justify this living nightmare of a document. In fact, he’s still sober enough to check that everything is binding in most jurisdictions, including the now-collapsed Church of Seiros and both pre- and post-coup Faerghus. This, despite the fact that even the most predatory brothel procurers and corrupt magistrates in Fódlan, upon reading this, would say, “Damn, that’s _fucked up._ ”

When Yuri sobers up more, he realizes he can’t possibly show this to Dimitri, but his dick keeps trying to interject _very firm_ arguments why he should anyway. How is his dick hard from writing a contract?

To clear his brain and encourage rational decision making, Yuri jerks off. Twice. That seems like the ethical way to approach the situation.

In the end, Yuri picks up both contracts. He’ll toss down the second one, and once Dimitri tells Yuri where he can shove _that_ , he’ll laugh, tell Dimitri it was a joke, and pull out the first contract, which will look even more reasonable in comparison.

It’s a perfect plan.

Or it would have been, except Dimitri doesn’t even _read_ the damn thing before signing his name at the bottom.

* * *

And maybe it’s better this way, Yuri tells himself while he’s got Dimitri’s head tipped over the side of the bed, easing him into taking Yuri’s dick without gagging. Yuri’s old tracking collar is a bit tight around Dimitri’s throat, but it’ll stretch, and something about that gleaming black strip around a literal prince’s neck _works_ for Yuri. Judging by the way Dimitri panted and shook when Yuri clipped it on and completed the locking incantation, that makes two of them.

The fact Dimitri signed that contract unread is tangible proof he can’t be trusted to take care of himself, and clearly all his noble buddies ain’t worth shit, so Yuri’s stuck holding the bag until the professor comes back. The contract, the collar—they’ll make it possible for Yuri to keep Dimitri alive and close by for the next few years. After all, Blaiddyds are famed for taking debt as a matter of personal honor, and Dimitri lives and breathes Faerghus‘s stupid fucking concept of honor, breathes it even as it’s choking him to death. He’ll never abandon an agreement he signed, even one that locks him into forced sexual servitude with zero hope of release.

It’s not the professor Yuri’s thinking about once his whole dick’s shoved down the Whore Prince of Faerghus’s throat, however, not with that eye looking so _grateful_ that Yuri’s deigning to teach its owner how to properly suck a dick. Like this is the greatest honor anyone has ever bestowed upon him.

This is Abyss. Nothing’s free, not even for the professor. If Yuri’s going to have to babysit Dimitri until the professor decides to swoop back in and save the day, well… Dimitri’s hot, Yuri’s horny, and the contract that’s going to save Dimitri’s life also gives Yuri permission to have a lot of fun in the meantime.

Hey, Dimitri might even like it.


	3. Chapter 3

The training process does not go how Yuri expects. It’s far, far too smooth.

Yuri expected pushback. As royalty, people waited on Dimitri, not the other way around. Now that he’s sold himself away for pennies without knowing the terms, Yuri anticipated an ugly wake-up call.

Which would be natural. Royalty aside, _anyone_ would have trouble losing their bodily and personal autonomy with the stroke of a quill. Resistance is inevitable.

Instead, Yuri’s freshly-minted whore greets him most mornings and evenings with puppyish eagerness, clambering onto him like a sweet, untrained mutt would greet a beloved master’s return. Yuri chalks the reaction up to lack of mental stimulation; he hasn’t forbidden Dimitri from leaving his rooms, but Dimitri seems uninterested in venturing outside. Hapi thinks it’s the sickness, the one that makes Dimitri distant and lethargic some nights, while other nights he’s frenetic, rocking and muttering to himself while Yuri bangs his head against the desk and sighs over the inevitable lost night of work.

(Shoving his dick into Dimitri’s mouth on those nights, while probably not healer-recommended, works more often than not to calm him down enough to let Yuri finish his work. But there are other nights Dimitri’s beyond reach, a simmering tower of rage that screams at Yuri to stay away from him. Yuri learns the difference fast, crashing at Hapi’s place those nights and returning those early hours. Dimitri is pathetically apologetic afterwards, but it doesn’t bother Yuri beyond the inconvenience. Functional humans don’t come to Abyss.)

The nights Dimitri hangs off Yuri with that edge of desperation are the best training nights, and after they eat, Yuri gets down to the more-enjoyable-than-he-expected business of teaching Dimitri how to _properly_ suck him off, on his own cock and on wooden and metal phalluses to give him some variety in size and girth. Dimitri’s a quick learner, picking up techniques and refining them into his own “style,” and soon enough he’s the best cocksucker Yuri’s known outside a mirror, an electrifying swirl of sloppy, needy wetness and vacuum-suction tight heat, without a hint of teeth to spoil it (unless specifically requested, and under limited circumstances). He revels in Yuri fucking his face hard, using the bits of hair Yuri can gather up like a lead, and only gags now when Yuri straight skull-fucks him. That’s also what brings out the best noises, Yuri learns, the sweet humming that vibrates against his dick and brain.

It’s not just about having a dick in his mouth, though. After that awful first showing, Yuri knows better than to expect the bold charm of a Sylvain Gautier or the feminine wiles of a Dorothea Arnault, but Dimitri needs to learn _something_ about being seductive.

This part does not go so well. Dimitri is too earnest and awkward, and can’t lift his head long enough to look anyone in the eye, which rules out… a lot. A _lot_ lot.

“What’s the deal with that, anyway?” Yuri asks one frustrating night. “You never had trouble looking people in the eye back at the Academy.”

Dimitri slides out of Yuri’s lap and back onto his pallet, sinking like a corpse. “Forgive me,” he whimpers, and Yuri feels like a heel for even asking. There’s a bad story there, likely connected to his eye injury, and Yuri leaves it be. It’s Abyss. Everyone’s got a sob story, and Yuri doesn’t need Dimitri’s to get his dick wet.

So instead he teaches Dimitri how to kneel, crawl, and beg beautifully, and that works in fits and starts. Sometimes he’s smooth as a stalking panther or sweet as a loyal hound, only to become aware of himself and tangle in himself again.

“It’s a shame,” Yuri remarks another night, “that you can’t make your whole body look the way your eye does when it’s sucking me off.”

Dimitri, confused, darts his head up for a fraction of a second, not quite meeting Yuri’s eye. “You… like that?” he asks, quiet. Surprised.

“Sure,” Yuri says. “It’s sexy.” Don’t want to oversell it and give him a big head, even if it’s not possible to _under_ sell that eye.

And _that_ is when the transformation begins.

Something inside Dimitri unlocks, or maybe emerges, because over the next few weeks every inch of Dimitri begins channeling the aching, helpless desperation that sucks Yuri into his eye. Begging soon comes naturally as breathing, as if he’s been begging every minute of his life and only now can he reveal it as truth. The stark contrast of Dimitri’s enormous strength and size against the breathtaking depth of his submission is one of the hottest things Yuri’s ever witnessed, and he knows he’s witnessing lightning in a bottle. _Bolting_ in a bottle.

Still, his stomach twists hot and cold when Dimitri, face bent meekly to the floor, pleads for Yuri’s cock in his mouth as if it’s agony to be without it. Sometimes Yuri can’t help but wonder why he’s so fucking good at begging when he’s _royalty,_ and has been given everything.

It’s not just Yuri who’s affected by the new performance, either.

Dimitri, having allowed this inner desire to manifest outwardly, now seems swept up in its dark current. That, combined with the very act of being on his knees every night, begging for Yuri’s cock, reinforces in his understimulated mind that Yuri’s cock is highly desirable, an essential part of his daily function. Over the weeks, the training wriggles into every corner of his brain can find, and a performance that draws on something authentic within Dimitri warps into a lodestone of his continued existence in Fodlan, his pleas echoing the lotus eaters in their dens who willingly debase themselves for another hit. He seems almost dependent upon it, Yuri’s cock in his mouth soothing and sending him as the opium sends the lotus eaters spinning into space.

Yuri hates to admit it, but he loves it. Loves what a wreck it makes of Dimitri, how willingly he’s groomed himself into a cockwarmer for Yuri, which Yuri calls him with a measured dose of affection and Dimitri accepts with a mix of humiliation and shy pride. The best moment of any training session is when Yuri asks him why, why he wants it, and Dimitri moans, “because I’m nothing but a whore.”

Yuri was a whore once, and now a prince begs to be his whore. That’s thunder rolling in Yuri’s heart, to see this rich, spoiled brat brought so low.

That is not to say there aren’t certain limits. Getting Dimitri to loosen up enough to say ‘fuck’ is impossible, but it feeds the alchemy of his unique appeal, much like how he’s always fumbling over his yearning pleas to suck Yuri’s cock. Like he’s still the blushing boy prince from the Academy, twitterpated over anyone who treated him like a real person for five seconds. Like even after war and Abyss stripped him of his innocence, his purity remains intact.

Well, Abyss might not be able to despoil Dimitri, but Yuri’s just getting started.

Dimitri earns a head pat after every session, like Fat Roger suggested, and Dimitri whines and bumps into his hand like a pet, frantic for any contact Yuri will provide, sexual or otherwise.

It’s when Dimitri asks if he’s done well that Yuri holds back. He offers critique instead: too much gagging, not enough saliva, a brush of teeth. It gets tougher with each session; Yuri is running out of criticisms.

It’s time to venture into uncharted caverns.

* * *

Dimitri’s ass is on the bony side, all told. Crest magics fuel more muscle than someone with his non-eating habits should be able to support, but Yuri’s troubled by Dimitri’s continued weight loss, wants to see him filled out properly. He might have to start ordering Dimitri higher-quality rations from Balthus’s personal supplier. The cost will be exorbitant, but Yuri has multiple rainy-day funds, and he can always tack the amount onto Dimitri’s bill. In the meantime, Hapi and Constance alternate sitting with Dimitri downstairs at mealtimes when Yuri can’t be there, making sure he eats a reasonable portion. Starvation mode reduces hunger, but he’s had access to regular meals for several weeks now.

Yuri assigns Constance to monitor the situation; she’s more abrasive, but her data collection is top-notch. Plus, now she’ll have to take breaks to eat too instead of working all hours in the library archives and forgetting.

A hushed tension descends over Dimitri as Yuri informs him he wants to start training his ass. Dimitri already knows the basics of preparing a partner, as Yuri walked him through the steps on Yuri’s own body during mouth training, Yuri guiding Dimitri’s hands through preparations and which spots would bring him pleasure. Still, the lack of enthusiasm takes Yuri by surprise, though it shouldn’t. Yuri writes it off as the inevitable pushback, Dimitri probably assuming everyone would want to ride his cock.

In Dimitri’s defense, it’s a pretty great cock. A hair longer than Balthus’s, which puts it in that extra-large-but-not-monstrous sweet spot, and thick as Hapi’s clenched fist, with a slight bend Yuri imagines will slide great against that sweet spot inside him. It’s fun to grab, and to watch Dimitri squeak like a scandalized nun while he slowly processes and accepts that his body no longer belongs to him. Yuri plays with him this way some nights, poking and prodding at different parts of Dimitri’s body, treating his most vulnerable parts as fidget toys for Yuri’s amusement. It never fails to get Dimitri shuddering and glossy-eyed.

Still. Yuri demands full service. He wants to feel all that power around his cock, knowing every bit of that power _belongs_ to him.

The first day they try, however, Yuri’s finger drips heavy with oil as he inches a single finger into Dimitri’s hole—and Dimitri _screams_ in pure agony before lapsing back into a stream of incoherent apologies. Yuri’s blood runs to ice.

Closer examination with a heal spell confirms what Yuri suspects: Dimitri had, in the recent past, been penetrated by someone or someones who did _not_ care how much damage they were doing. How he’s hidden this so expertly not just from the first healer but from _Yuri_ is something he cannot fathom, because the pain had to have been constant.

“Did someone in Abyss do this?” Yuri asks, unexpectedly furious.

“No,” Dimitri whispers, curling up into a ball on the bed. He tucks his face into his knees.

 _Fuck_. Yuri’s been there. Professional hazard, even if he’s never been that torn up inside. There’s nothing that changes the fact it happened, so Yuri focuses on what he can do.

“I’m calling a healer,” Yuri says, and Dimitri opens his mouth, “and adding this to your tab,” which makes him shut it again. “And don’t _ever_ hide anything like this from me again, are we clear? I’d beat your ass black and blue right now if I could.”

With a soft sob, Dimitri nods in agreement.

Yuri asks around and tracks down the most sensitive healer he can find, a surface woman that reminds him of Mercedes. Compassionate, competent, zero judgment. With his crest (a minor Goneril crest from a cadet branch, Yuri explains) and a small procedure, the healer tells him, the damage can be reversed completely.

“Wasted effort,” Dimitri tells them both.

“I don’t want a whore with a busted ass,” Yuri snaps, which gets him Dimitri humiliated but compliant and a dirty look from the non-judging healer. Doesn’t stop her from charging her full rate. Doesn’t stop Yuri from adding the cost to Dimitri’s debt.

(Everyone’s got to get paid.)

* * *

It’s a month of poultices, soft foods, and follow-up heal spells after the procedure, but Dimitri’s mood improves with each day. As the pain eases, he spends more time in the common areas of the Blackwater Inn, his head bent low to catch Hapi’s soft voice over the din. Some nights Yuri comes back to find Dimitri doing push-ups or sit-ups, although Yuri forbids him from exceeding the healer’s recommendations. Other days he takes short walks while Yuri is at work, and Yuri clips a Mockingbird tag on the tracking collar ring to ward off harassment.

“It feels rather as if you’re marking me as your property,” Dimitri murmurs as Yuri clips on the tag.

Yuri hooks two fingers around the collar and tugs. “I am.”

Dimitri squirms, whining softly. Yuri’s learned that means he wants to be forced onto his knees while Yuri fucks his face, but that’s become a treat, much as it pains Yuri. If Dimitri wants anything in Abyss, he has to earn it.

So Yuri slips a third finger behind the leather, tightening the collar further, and Dimitri half wheezes, half squeals, his burning blue eye orbiting Yuri like a planet, and Yuri is his sun. “If you want something from me,” Yuri reminds Dimitri, “you have to ask for it.”

It’s still fun watching him stammer and stutter over asking for what he wants. They’ve been through this dozens of times now, but the shame never fully leaves him, and Yuri likes that. Let that little bit of humiliation drill through his mind and burrow in his heart so he’s always so sweetly shy and needy for Yuri.

“P-please,” Dimitri whines, head lolling back and eye fluttering shut. “I-I-I want it, I need your cock in my mouth, Yuri, pl-please… ” He lapses into incoherent babbling then, still bright red as he pleads for Yuri’s cock with gibberish and noise that all translate to helpless _need_.

Dimitri is wounded, angry, sick in body and mind, but beneath his injuries he is already tame. Yuri understands this now. The training process has not been Yuri breaking Dimitri’s spirit to then be rebuilt, but Yuri gently guiding Dimitri into breaking himself, allowing Yuri to mold and shape him as if he were clay; he grows sweeter, more docile and obedient with every session. Now Yuri barely has to press before Dimitri spirals down into humiliating new depths of submission each night. Yuri can only imagine what the other Blue Lions would say if they could see their prince now, naked and collared, a whore begging for cock.

Yuri gives it to him, of course. Such good self-debasement should be rewarded.

* * *

But it bugs him.

It was one thing to make Dimitri into a whore when he thought Dimtiri was going into this clear-eyed. Okay, maybe not _clear_ -eyed, because Yuri doesn’t know what passes for clear-eyed when some nights Dimitri still paces through the rooms of their suites, pleading with someone to understand that he cannot fulfill his duties until he’s free from Yuri’s contract. Yuri never finds out who he’s speaking to or what duties they demand of him. So that’s… troubling.

Furthermore, the pain Dimitri was in would have affected his decision-making. Dimitri already has a few more screws loose than usual, so losing even more to managing and concealing severe chronic pain is… dicey. The malnutrition is another factor; Dimitri still seems to find eating to be a chore, but Yuri understands now he was avoiding food to minimize the pain that he’d experience later. (And then there are the non-physical injuries, but… well, Yuri got over it. Dimitri will too.)

He could leave it be. Dimitri seems mostly fine, except he’s now a collared whore drooling over Yuri’s cock in Abyss instead of back in Faerghus, wearing his fancy armor and leading the resistance army against Edelgard and whatever she’s shilling this week to justify her land grab.

Okay, Dimitri’s _not_ fine, and Yuri doesn’t want the professor’s judgy shade coming back to haunt his ass. So he tries again.

“Look,” Yuri says one night after they collapse onto the mattress, “I didn’t realize how much pain you were in when you signed the contract.”

The healer’s records, which Yuri’s secretary transcribed a copy of for Dimitri’s sake, could be used with a sympathetic magistrate to break their contract. That aside, something churns uncomfortably in Yuri about how many months he spent front and center in Dimitri’s universe without him noticing. Dimitri’s supposed to be easy to read, certainly easier than Edelgard and Claude ever were, so what the hell happened that he missed this?

Dimitri tenses next to him. “I see no reason why that should affect the contract.”

Yuri rolls over on top of Dimitri, looking straight down at him. Dimitri tilts his face away “All the same, I want you to reread it.” _Or maybe read it for the first time._ “If you’re still fine with the terms, you can sign an affidavit affirming your consent. Otherwise, we can rip it up and start over.”

After a long pause, Dimitri says, “Very well. Prepare whatever you need, and I will review.”

Yuri brings home the contract and the affidavit he drafted the next evening and sets them on the sitting room table.

That _motherfucking idiot_ sets aside the contract _again_ and _signs the affidavit._

“Indech’s hairy asshole!” Yuri screams, while Dimitri sits with his head down, oddly unphased by Yuri's explosion. “ _Why are you like this?_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

Yuri gets over it, of course, because no matter how _infuriating_ Dimitri and his single-minded determination to sell himself into indentured sexitude can be, Yuri’s dick is as spoiled as a rich noble kid now, and his stupid dick misses stupid Dimitri worshipping it like the center of his stupid universe. As a compromise, he settles for yanking Dimitri’s hair, bending him over one knee, pulling his pants down, and spanking the shit out of him like he’s a naughty child.

It doesn’t work very well. The spanking leaves Dimitri dreamy and docile in a way Yuri has experienced but is new for them, and Dimitri’s comedown takes _hours_ for a single hard spanking session. He spends the rest of the night trying to draft supply contracts with Dimitri’s head in his lap. Dimitri keeps trying to _cuddle_ but also mouths the bulge in his pants and Yuri desperately wishes he could fuck them both unconscious.

So to say he’s a little excited when the healer clears Dimitri to resume full sexual activity, kicking off his long-awaited next phase, is a bit of an understatement. Yuri’s dick throbs in relief and anticipation.

That doesn’t mean he’s taking chances. He reviews the insertion preparation process with his own body before he orders Dimitri to do the same for himself. Dimitri receives more feedback than Yuri, so he’ll know to stop for pain, and Yuri orders him to practice not hurting himself. He’s wary at first, and Yuri can’t blame him, but giving him control over the process does wonders. The first time Dimitri finds the sweet spot inside him, his body lights up like he’s been hit with a Thoron spell. It’s pretty hot, the way he becomes this needy, squirmy thing, so lost in his own pleasure he forgets his entire existence hinges on Yuri’s.

But it’s not their objective.

“You’re not some garden-variety slut,” Yuri reminds him with a flick to the dick, and Dimitri growls in frustration, which is pretty rare. Yuri doesn’t pay much attention to Dimitri’s pleasure, despite that nice dick of his. Other than spilling a few times while sucking Yuri off, Dimitri never attempts to touch himself, or ask permission to do so. Yuri’s not sure what he’d say if he did.

(Come to think of it, _does_ Dimitri masturbate? Maybe he waits until Yuri leaves for the day. Weird he’d be so shy about _that_ when he’s gotten on his knees and begged for the privilege of tonguing Yuri’s asshole, but people are weird, and Dimitri’s definitely on the weirder side of the weird people spectrum.)

Still, the process goes well enough that a few days later, he presents Dimitri with a box of wooden training plugs. “You’ll work up from the smallest,” Yuri says, “but eventually I want you wearing the biggest one as much as you can each day so you’re always ready for me.”

Judging by the way Dimitri’s eye fogs over and he licks his lips, Yuri might actually have to force him to stay on schedule instead of jumping ahead.

 _Then again,_ he thinks as he’s popping the largest plug out of Dimitri’s ass a week later and sliding his cock into Dimitri’s waiting hole, _who am I to tell him what his limits are?_

* * *

“Everyone’s saying you took Didi as your lover,” Hapi informs him one day over lunch. “Should I be correcting them?”

Yuri considers that. Hapi’s the least judgmental of their motley crew, but she gets pissy about people being held against their will. She’d take one look at Yuri’s contract and draw all the wrong conclusions.

(Which is dumb, because goddess knows Yuri has given the man countless opportunities to renegotiate or end their arrangmeent, and Dimitri stubbornly insists on frustrating every attempt Yuri makes at doing the right thing. Besides, that contract is null and void the moment Important People show up looking for Dimitri. Yuri will get a payoff for his silence, hand over the prince, and then wave as they spirit him away to whatever destiny awaits people born for that kind of thing. There’s nothing for Dimitri here.)

“You can tell people we have an arrangement.” Yuri scoops up some of his fish stew. It’s rare they get something this hearty down here. He should bring an extra bowl back for Dimitri later.

Hapi raises an eyebrow. “Everyone’s gonna think he’s your whore if I say that.”

Yuri keeps eating.

“Yuri-bird, you did _not_ —”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Yuri protests, and at Hapi’s shocked face, he adds, “Cichol’s balls, not like _that._ Just… look, you’ve met the guy, he’s not the type to just accept help from people without giving something back in return, and he was _very specific_ about what he wanted to give back.”

Hapi almost sighs, then claps her mouth shut. Once the feeling passes, she says, “Maybe charity _isn’t_ your thing.”

* * *

That night Yuri had planned to try taking Dimitri’s cock instead of Dimitri taking his. His size requires some extra preparation even for a seasoned pro like Yuri, but hey, he muddled through with Balthus that one night when they crashed in a lotus eater’s den, and Dimitri’s only a little bigger than that.

Instead, he says to Dimitri, “I could send an owl to Duke Fraldarius, you know.”

Dimitri freezes. “Rodrigue is… still alive?”

“Yeah. He, Count Charon, and Margrave Gautier have been leading the resistance against the Faerghus Dukedom.”

For a moment something sparks in Dimitri that reminds Yuri of the person he was before Edelgard decided to grind axes all over the continent. Then it dies again, replaced with the dull expression Yuri’s more familiar with these days. “Do not contact any of them,” Dimitri finally tells him. “I’ve my debt to you to repay.”

“I’m sure we can work something out—”

“ _Do not contact them,_ ” Dimitri orders Yuri, and _there_ he is, there’s the spoiled brat prince, the one everyone bows and scrapes to without a second thought.

Change of plans for tonight: he fucks Dimitri’s face for over three hours and orders Dimitri to stroke himself until he’s close, then stop and start again. He tells Dimitri to repeat “I love being Yuri’s cockwhore” and a few other choice phrases while he’s face-fucked, and the attempts at words shoot electrical sparks through Yuri’s cock. Yuri comes three times, using fingers and toys during his recovery periods, and makes sure to fucking _paint_ that brat prince with his cum, squeezing every drop he can out of his balls. He never gives Dimitri permission to come and Dimitri never asks.

Yuri’s dick is chafed even with all the saliva and the oil he dribbled onto Dimitri’s tongue, and Dimitri’s mouth is a bruise, his body crusty with the stripes of cum Yuri marked him with. His dick looks even worse than Yuri’s. His usual burning blue is left both glassy and dull, what bits of it peek out around the saucer-sized pupils. When Dimitri tries to crawl to a washbasin, Yuri says, “Leave it for tonight.”

Dimitri collapses on the floor, still whispering Yuri’s mantra as he drifts to sleep.

_You want to be a whore so badly, Dimitri?_

_I’ll make you into the perfect whore, and you’ll love every fucking second of it._

* * *

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in your rooms lately,” Balthus tells him over a beer in the downstairs tavern the next evening.

“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” Yuri asks, taking a sip. Weak piss. Blackwater’s old brewer burned down during a clash between resistance and Dukedom forces. Refugees from the region told him what had happened.

War sucks.

“I don’t normally get involved in your sex life—”

“Unless we’re both eating opium and your mouth is getting involved with my dick, check.”

“Fuck off, pal, I’m trying to watch your back here. Yours and everyone else’s. The target on his back is big enough to destroy all of us.”

The worst part is that Balthus is _right_. Whatever weird game he’s playing with Dimitri, it’ll end, either when Kingdom resistance or Imperial soldiers come knocking. Yuri’s options are to cut line now and save Abyss or let whatever hammer drops destroy them all.

“We’re the last resort for _everyone_ in Fódlan,” Yuri says. “Even him.”

He takes another sip. Nope, still weak piss.

Balthus shakes his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Also, find us a better fucking alcohol supplier before my collective hangover kills me.”

“Hear, hear.” They clink their mugs together.

* * *

When Yuri heads back to his room, intending to vent his frustrations into Dimitri, he finds the room empty, which is unexpected. Yuri returns to their rooms at the same time every day so Dimitri can always be here, ready for Yuri to use him.

Then Yuri notices the armor gone, Dimitri’s pallet neatly made.

_Son of a bitch._

He activates the collar tracking spell. Good, the brat prince hasn’t gone too far. Yuri storms through the markets, watching the light brighten or dim as he navigates through the busy evening marketplace. The route takes him into one of the poorest residential areas, eventually putting Yuri right in front of Old Lena’s flat—

—where Dimitri, decked in full Blaiddyd war plate, is _rearranging the furniture._

”Are you certain you’ll be able to adjust to the new layout, Mistress Crawford?” Dimitri asks as he sets down her bed. He’s hoisted the entire thing into the air as if it weighed no more than a breadbasket. It’s fucking sexy watching him use that superhuman strength of his, Yuri can’t deny that. Also, he’s looking directly at Old Lena, his chin straight and sure, and his smile is… warm. It’s the first time Yuri’s seen the prince he knew back at the Academy. Maybe something else, too.

(Maybe he sees why the Kingdom resistance cares more about finding Dimitri than organizing a meaningful response to the coup.)

Old Lena chuckles. “Oh yes. This will make it much easier for me not to bump into the furniture and trip. And thank you again for delivering my groceries. You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, Didi?”

“Perhaps another time,” Dimitri replies, somehow still not looking at Yuri.

 _Shit_. Yuri forgot to bring Old Lena her groceries today.

“Oh, someone else is here. Is that you, Yuri?” Old Lena waves in his general direction, her smile full of cracked and missing teeth. “You’ve no need to bring me my groceries today. Didi here took care of it. Such a nice young man, and quite handsome. I can tell, you know.”

Dimitri’s ear tips turn red.

“Good to hear,” Yuri says, not trusting himself to say more. “C’mon, ‘Didi,’ we’ve got a meeting to attend.”

“It truly was a pleasure, Mistress Crawford,” Dimitri says, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Come back anytime,” Old Lena calls as they leave.

As soon as they’re out of there, Yuri grabs Dimitri’s arm and swings him around, then slams him up against an alleyway wall. Dimitri lets him with a soft whine. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Dimitri keeps his eye on the ground. “She required aid, and you were not using me at the moment.”

The way he says it, as if he’s nothing more than a toy Yuri picks up and discards at leisure, is both infuriating and _fucking hot._ Following a pulse of lust and rage, he kisses Dimitri in the street, hard and cruel, and Dimitri opens for him like he was fucking _born_ for this, like he was wasted on a throne and belongs on his back forever.

Yuri drags him deeper into the alley, and starts trying to unbuckle Dimitri’s armor, but it’s complicated and his hands are shaking. He could just use Dimitri’s mouth, but that’s not the mark he wants to leave right now.

“Get that off,” Yuri growls at him, and Dimitri complies, practically ripping off the armor and the mesh layer below, then pulling down his undergarments.

The largest plug is wedged beneath his asscheeks, and for a moment, Yuri can’t breathe right.

He recovers fast, masking the moment with a quick, solid slap to Dimitri’s ass, pushing the plug inside him, and Dimitri whimpers, though the way his cock jumps tells Yuri he liked it.

“You‘re too damn quiet,” Yuri tells him, taking Dimitri’s cock in one hand. “Good whores know to put on a show.”

“I—Yuri, there are people around, possibly _children—_ ”

Yuri covers his mouth. “This is Abyss,” he reminds him as he takes a hard stroke of Dimitri’s cock, “and no one’s innocent here. You want to be a good little whore, right?”

“I—y-yes,” he whispers, nodding frantically.

“Say it.”

There’s a pause and a gleam that makes Yuri think he’s finally pushed Dimitri too far. Then, a fraction higher than a whisper, he says, “I… want to be—to be a—a—a good little whore.”

He almost sounds like he means it.

“Then let them hear you, whore prince,” Yuri says with a wicked grin, nipping the lobe of Dimitri’s ear as he gives Dimitri’s cock another long, rough stroke. “Let them hear you scream.”

Dimitri’s hesitant, uncertain at first, pushing more air and sound out of his usual breathy noises, but as Yuri’s pace increases, the sounds rise in volume, grunts becoming groans, whimpers becoming full-fledged moans, until Dimitri is practically screaming, sobbing Yuri’s name as he stares on helplessly with that beautiful, perfect fucking eye of his.

The thing about moaning like a whore is that sometimes it stops being fake. All that yelling and noise tricks your brain into thinking you love what you’re doing, and only the sickest, weirdest fucks _don’t_ want that. Everyone else wants to believe the whore wants it, even the whore.

Right now, with Dimitri’s frenzied wail as he spills into Yuri’s hand, Yuri believes Dimitri believes he wants it. The ravenous way Dimitri licks Yuri’s hand makes Yuri wonder if he actually does.

When they get back to their quarters, Yuri strips off the rest of the armor. “New rule: armor is for battle only.” Yuri scowls at him. “You’re not a king at war in Abyss. You’re just another whore.”

Head dipped low, Dimitri murmurs, “Yes, Yuri.”


	5. Chapter 5

Old Lena, as it turns out, is only the beginning. Soon enough, “Didi” is carting groceries to the sickest members of Abyss or teaching orphans the basics of swordplay and letters with sticks they gathered and words drawn in mud. (Yuri remembers he and his mother, practically still a child herself, as The Old Man drew letters in the dirt. Did he tell Dimitri that story?) He’s even recruited to lift boulders out of the way when a crew venturing deep into the catacombs gets stuck in a mudslide. He’s never late returning to their rooms again, and no matter what he’s doing, if Yuri summons him, he drops everything and returns to Yuri’s side. Yuri tries not to take _too_ much advantage.

Dimitri’s unfailingly polite and deferential, and still refuses to lift his head or make eye contact with anyone. He still loses his train of thought in the middle of conversations and stares into space sometimes, or murmurs to people who aren’t there, but the episodes are mild compared to his early days in Abyss. He’s a whore, sure, but he’s _Yuri’s_ whore, and that’s the closest thing anyone has to status around here.

Over time, he gains weight. His cheeks and chest fill and his body’s softer under Yuri’s hands, though the powerful muscles below remain. He exercises more while Yuri isn’t using him now, and one lunchtime Yuri spots Dimtiri jogging through the market area. Balthus nags Yuri about letting Dimitri join his workouts, and Yuri finally agrees, slipping him a few “suggestions” on areas to target. Dimitri, in turn, thrives on Balthus’s grueling training schedule, and he fills out even more, gaining confidence as he learns how to compensate for his eye. It’s strange sometimes for Yuri to turn around and be assaulted with how _big_ Dimitri is, how even if he’s smaller than Balthus, there’s a power and gravity to him and the Blaiddyd crest that make him far, far more dangerous when provoked.

Yuri doesn’t let him get that far. Just in case Dimitri starts getting the idea he’s worth shit, Yuri takes him down to the Mockingbirds’ central warehouse one day, with a leash and a new tag attached to the tracking collar that identifies him as _Yuri’s whore_. During a break in the meeting, Yuri whips out his cock and tugs the leash, pulling Dimitri forward, the cheers and whistles of his lieutenants egging them on. Even with his head tilted down, Yuri catches the moment of gut-punch horror on Dimitri’s face when he realizes what he’s supposed to do. It doesn’t last, however, and like the well-trained whore he is, his eye passses through the horror to resignation as he takes the tip of Yuri’s cock into his mouth. 

Almost instantly the change comes upon him; the resignation burns away blue, leaving behind complete submission to his newest degradation, then the rapturous ecstasy of having Yuri’s cock in his mouth while Yuri’s lieutenants jeer and mock him as a slut, a whore, a bitch, and any other crude names and suggestions they can use to tear him down further. Their cruelty, if anything, spurs Dimitri to new heights, until the melted-glass sheen of his eye and helpless, whining excitement becomes too much of a distraction.

Pulling his cock out of Dimitri, Yuri strokes himself furiously while Dimitri keens in protest. It only takes a few moments to spill all over Dimitri’s face.

“Leave it there,” Yuri orders Dimitri as he goes to try and wipe it off. “Show them how much you love being my whore.”

Dimitri gulps as the lieutenants laugh uproariously around him. He tries to hide his cum-streaked face between Yuri’s legs, but the continued stream of compliments and insults have him straining to hear what’s been said, and the nastier they are, the more he humps Yuri’s legs despite himself.

Offers to purchase a night with him or to buy out Dimitri’s contract pour in immediately. Yuri shuts down the idea of any permanent sales fast, and Dimitri clutches his legs tighter in gratitude. The requests to borrow him, however, inspire glances of terror mixed with heady anticipation.

Yuri’s no pimp, but nothing would grind the worthlessness into Dimitri’s brain like being sold this way, the way a _real_ whore would. He’s gotten off easy only having Yuri to please, like he’s a pet. Every time Yuri opens his mouth to accept, however, he finds himself begging off with the excuse he’s still training Dimitri to be the “perfect whore” before letting anyone else try him. Yeah, Yuri’s not sure what the fuck he’s talking about either.

Later that night, figuring he deserves a treat, Yuri asks Dimitri what he wants to do for the evening. It takes a few minutes to establish he’s actually being allowed to make a decision what they do this evening, but once Yuri does, Dimitri carries Yuri to the bed, pulls out his cock, and sucks devotedly until he falls asleep that way. Yuri pets Dimitri’s head the entire time and asks himself, not for the first time, _what the fuck is wrong with this guy._

It’s the closest thing to a decent life one might find in Abyss, all things told.

Which creates their new problem.

“There are complaints about Didi among the Mockingbirds,” Constance tells him one day while they’re checking the wards she set last week.

“From who? The guy wouldn’t harm a fly.” Which is not true given what Dimitri did to that maggot’s nest in the dead rat they dug out of the wall the other night, but he did trap the spiders nearby and take them outside.

“Not about _Didi_ Didi,” Constance huffs. “Everyone loves Didi. That’s the problem. Several of them wish to fuck him, and they wish to know why you hold him back.”

Yeah, that’s… definitely something Yuri should have seen coming. A lot of people want to fuck Dimitri. Yuri’s getting pelted with offers from the more well-to-do freaks and outcasts in Abyss, and a few bold ones have tried approaching Dimitri directly, most of whom he’s politely shut down by referring them to Yuri, who is much less polite. One of the persistent ones turned out to be an Imperial spy; after Yuri cut her throat, he reviewed her correspondence and discovered she’d had no idea who she was _really_ trying to buy. Some spy she was.

(On the plus side, rumors that Yuri killed the spy because she tried to steal Dimitri had quite the chilling effect on other attempts. On the minus side, it was a tense couple of nights with Dimitri while explaining that no, Yuri did _not_ kill her out of jealousy.) 

The Mockingbirds, though… he’s always shared everything with them, good fortune and bad, and Dimitri should be no exception. Especially after the way Yuri teased them at the warehouse. Normally Yuri wouldn’t care, but his partners are usually people with lives and shit, not fallen princes who whored themselves out and got themselves locked into weird sexy debt slavery through _willful stupidity_. 

So Yuri starts with the most important question. “Since when do my guys talk to you, anyway?”

Constance huffs at him, flips her hair, and stamps her foot. “I have to find reliable test subjects for my groundbreaking research that will restore House Nuvelle to its rightful place at the apex of the Fódlandi hierarchy _somewhere_ , Yuri!” Then her face dims. “The malcontents on the lower rungs that are the real concern. There are rumors a few of them might try to _take_ Didi.”

Shit. How the fuck did Yuri miss this?

_Too busy getting your dick sucked, that’s how._

“That’s not about Didi, that’s about sending a message to me.” They think Dimitri is a weakness they can exploit, and he is, just not the usual kind.

“Didi could dispatch attackers with extreme prejudice, but it would be unpleasant for him.” She finishes her scans and the light spell winks out of existence. “We agree we must avoid that contingency, correct?”

Dimitri could kill all of Abyss without breaking a sweat, Yuri included. That’s what makes using him like a cheap whore so exciting in the first place. Well that and he looks like a scary pirate barbarian and you could introduce him to your mother, not that Yuri would ever do that.

But he’s getting off track. Dimitri _could_ fight back, but _would_ he?

In the year and a half since he first washed up in Abyss, Dimitri hasn’t had to kill anyone. Sometimes he breaks up fights among drunks, and one time he lost his shit on a rapist, but Yuri’s made an effort to keep some space between the real atrocities and Dimitri. They’ve got their own justice system down here, imperfect as it might be, and Yuri would like to keep the incoherent babbling about “the cycle of the strong oppressing the weak” to a minimum, please and thanks. Yuri can’t shield him completely—this is still Abyss, and Dimitri spending more of his free time with the poorest and sickest in Abyss means seeing awful suffering—but he’s trusted Yuri and the Mockingbirds to keep the peace.

Two years ago, Yuri would have said… actually, looking back he’s not sure _what_ Dimitri would have done if harassed in a way that wasn’t strictly physical. Status gave him a degree of untouchability. Rowe used to complain after Duscur that the prince was guarded at all times for his safety, eliminating opportunities to get in and cultivate his influence. (Yuri thought it was smart not to let the prince near Rowe without close supervision. Fucking piece of work, his ex-father.) Even in the relaxed Academy atmosphere, Dimitri was always accompanied by his retainer, a man even larger than Balthus and far more terrifying. Between that and his latent submissive streak… which is no longer latent, but manifest and now quite prominent, cultivated to extreme lengths by Yuri over this past year… 

He’d feel guilty, except Yuri remembers the Academy, the professor’s eyes tracking Dimitri during those terrible final months as he trained through the nights and muttered under his breath. He can’t shake the feeling something went horribly off in Faerghus if the guy who was supposed to be running the joint is _more_ stable as a submissive whore in Abyss than he was as the crown prince.

So he talks to Hapi, since she tends to have a level head about these things. “Have Didi and B spar publicly?” she suggests, stroking her chin. “That’d scare ‘em.”

“What, like a prize match?” They used to run prize matches monthly before the war drove most of the paying customers from the region—or into Abyss.

“Sure.” Hapi considers. “No publicity, though.”

Not like all three factions wouldn’t hear anyway. Yuri’s not stupid enough to believe there aren’t more spies embedded in Abyss, but he’s done a good job muddying the waters. Right now the people up top are treating them as neutral ground, and Edelgard’s little campaign to free Fódlan from the upper classes’ oppression would lose some chops if she attacked the biggest refugee camp on the continent.

If it got out Yuri was harboring Dimitri, however…

At least the townspeople hadn’t made the jump from the boy prince who sauntered down here two and a half years ago and the madman who washed up a year later. Yuri’s not even sure most of them realize that madman and their beloved “Didi” are the same person. Yuri wants to keep it that way.

“Maybe I should just ask Balthus to start guarding him when he goes out,” Yuri says, testing the idea out. It _would_ reduce the amount of time Balthus has for card tables and gambling dens.

“That’s going to make him look _more_ important to you,” Hapi reminds him, and Yuri almost snaps back that it doesn’t matter if it does.

Balthus agrees to the match and even insists he’ll start joining Dimitri when he ventures into the most dangerous neighborhoods, but there’s an uneasy glint in his eye that sparks with the knot in Yuri’s stomach. There’s a better play, and none of his friends are suggesting it, and Yuri’s not sure why they’re all so reluctant to pull that chain.

Dimitri, however, has no such reservations. “The solution seems obvious,” he tells Yuri, fidgeting with his hands. “I should sexually service your lieutenants to show them I mean nothing to you.”

Yuri facepalms. “Is all this you living out some fucked-up fantasy, or do you just not give a shit whether you live or die? _That is not a rhetorical question._ ”

Despite the warning, Dimitri doesn’t answer him, just keeps staring down at his hands.

“Could you at least _look_ at me?” Yuri snarls. Dimitri tries, his neck snapping each attempt, but every time that burning blue eye tries to lock onto Yuri’s, it darts down in terror. As he grows more agitated, Yuri gives up with a “fuck, never mind,” when Dimitri starts to rock in panic.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri sobs, and Yuri rubs his back, keeping his own breathing slow in the hope that Dimitri will follow his lead. It works, after a time, but Dimitri’s fists clench into his breeches.

“You know it’s the best solution,” he tells Yuri, and Yuri, with a sinking stomach, cannot bring himself to disagree. It bothers him that _Dimitri_ is the one to suggest it, though, like being passed around like a cheap whore honestly isn’t a big deal for him.

(Or that he sees no difference between fucking Yuri and fucking anyone else. That maybe _Yuri_ is the toy to be discarded here, and not Dimitri. But that can’t be right, because down here Yuri is a king in the shadows, and the prince from above is nothing but a whore.)

So he does what he usually does when he’s frustrated and wants to clear his head: he bends Dimitri over the table and fucks him senseless. It’s never quite as good without that bright blue eye looking up at him in perfect adoration, but it’s still damn nice.

Because Dimitri has grown into a fantastic whore. He’s sensitive, flushed and shivering at even the lightest of sensual touches like he’s still the delicate virgin prince, yet debauched enough to easily accept Yuri’s cock, thanks to the large plug that’s become part of his daily existence. When Yuri decides to ride him instead, he’s erect practically on command, and rarely flags until Yuri is done with him. He’s tight heat and snapping hips, coiled strength and eager obedience. His breathy huffs and soft moans have become lusty screams, which he struggles to keep quiet now. Yuri sometimes misses the little noises, but he’s so much easier to humiliate this way, and much, much more fun to gag.

Dimitri adores having his hair pulled and gripped like a lead, especially now that it’s completely grown out of that bad Academy haircut. He likes nails raked down his body and teeth in his shoulder and marks everywhere. He loves when Yuri spanks him before fucking him, wriggling his ass excitedly to provoke a smack. Above all, he loves, loves, _loves_ sucking Yuri’s cock, the strange dependency that took root in the earliest weeks of their arrangement having blossomed into a full-blown addiction. Dimitri’s rampant oral fixation is probably the only thing keeping him eating regularly since Constance figured out he can’t taste anything.

He never asks if he’s permitted to come, and most nights he doesn’t unless he gets too worked up from servicing Yuri’s cock with his mouth. When it does happen, it seems to put him out of sorts for the rest of the evening, until Yuri has to order him to knock the moody shit off because on-call whores don’t get breaks. Yuri’s thought about restricting his orgasms but decides that’s too much work.

Dimitri still asks if he did well every time they fuck.

Yuri never says yes, answers with another critique. Dimitri is fantastic, but Yuri wants him to be _perfect._

Which means, he realizes with a sinking stomach, he must expand his whore’s horizons.


	6. Chapter 6

“I can’t just throw him to the wolves, er Mockingbirds,” Yuri tells the rest of the Ashen Wolves the next day over lunch.

“Why not?” Constance asks, sipping her wine with a wrinkled nose. Now their wineseller’s vineyards in Hyrm are on fire. Yuri hopes they hurry up and finish the war before the idiots in charge manage to destroy all the booze in Fódlan. “Trial by fire is the quickest way to learn anything.”

Nobody who lives in Abyss survived their trial by fire, Dimitri and the Ashen Wolves included. That’s why they’re here. “That healer I called last time is dead, for starters, so I gotta be careful not to wreck him again.”

It happened during one of the resistance’s assaults in Gideon, Yuri gathered. He sent the healter’s daughter enough coin to charter a ship to Morfis.

“Yeah, probably best we start small,” Hapi says. “They still buying the ‘training’ excuse?”

“Not for long,” Yuri says, head in his hands.

“How trained can he really be, Yuri?” Constance asks with a sniff. “Among other knowledge gaps, he is lacking field experience with female bodies.”

Eh, the basics will transfer. What Dimitri understands intuitively, that not even Yuri can teach, is _bodies._ How to seek out soft, vulnerable places, how to study and absorb the feedback he receives, how to apply what he learns to extract the maximum effect. One time, curious, Yuri told Dimitri to do what he pleased, and after several minutes of confusion and clarification, he’d laid Yuri down, gently prepped him with those long, surprisingly nimble fingers of his, and held Yuri up the entire time as he fucked Yuri in long, slow strokes. It was all so gentle, so tender, so disturbingly _precise_. A fantasy Yuri didn’t even know he had.

They haven’t repeated the experience. Not because it wasn’t incredible, but because okay, _maybe_ Yuri’s got some issues to work through around being treated like he matters.

But that’s not the issue at hand. Or maybe it is. Either way, Constance has a point.

“Maybe you do throw him to the wolves—specifically, the Ashen Wolves.” Balthus slaps the table while the rest of them groan because fuck, that was _Alois_ levels of bad. “We’re a good intermediary because we have our own friendships with Didi. If you’re gonna keep playing this ‘perfect whore’ angle—which weirds me out but I don’t want to judge your kinks to your face, bud—then variety is the spice of life. So let us be the spice.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t get it up for guys without getting high?”

“Think of it as a challenge,” Balthus suggests, with a bright gleam that suggested it might not be _quite_ the challenge he claimed it would.

“Well I, Constance von Nuvelle, have already prepared a full training programme to make up for the gaps in Didi’s erotic education,” Constance announces, slapping a well-worn journal brimming with loose papers onto the desk. “Hapi refuses to try it with me. So lazy.”

Hapi rolls her eyes. “You wanted me to lick the entire alphabet into your clit, but you came by ‘J.’ Experiment successful.”

“Do you see what I have to suffer with her?” Constance wails, clutching her hands together. Then she brightens. “Is Didi willing to give a small blood sample? There is some promising research in aphrodisiacal applications of faith magic… ”

“No blood,” Yuri says, even if that’s technically allowed under Dimitri’s contract. Dimitri’s a whore, not a test subject.

“Wait, are we ever going to stop and talk about _who_ we’re doing all of this crazy shit with?” Hapi asks the group.

Yuri looks at Balthus, who looks at Constance, who looks at Hapi.

“No,” Yuri, Balthus, and Constance say in unison.

Hapi shrugs. “Fine by me.”

* * *

Constance gets the blood sample anyway.

“I didn’t know you had forbidden it,” Dimitri protests that night, after Yuri sees the bandage and starts cursing.

She’s tomorrow’s problem, though. Tonight, Dimitri’s still light-headed (how much blood did Constance _take?_ ) so Yuri puts him to bed. Lays him down on the featherbed and sits down next to him. The pallet’s gone unused for months, ostensibly for Dimitri having one of his really bad nights, but those have grown fewer, and there’s a sofa Yuri relocates to when they do come around.

Yuri strokes his hair and tells him stories about his own Academy days, and Dimitri actually gets a decent night’s sleep. So does Yuri.

The next morning, Yuri hauls Constance over her shoulder and takes her outside so she’ll properly apologize to both of them. As soon as he witnesses the change, Dimitri hauls Constance over _his_ shoulder and brings her back into the shadows.

* * *

But even with the go-ahead to start this phase of… whatever the fuck it is they’re doing, best not to think about it too hard or his head will start throbbing, it’s still a shock the first time Yuri comes across Dimitri between Hapi’s legs.

Dimitri, with that burning blue eye of his, stares at Hapi and licks like the fountain of youth pours from her legs, and maybe it does, seeing that soft, hazy smile on Dimitri as he fucks Hapi’s cunt with his tongue. Yuri shudders, remembering the nights he’s been fucked by that same tongue, willing away the cold pit in him when he sees that naked devotion in Dimitri’s eye all focused on Hapi.

Hapi deserves it, though. Hapi deserves to be the center of someone’s world for a few minutes and have it be something other than pain. Dimitri’s actually louder than she is as he moans into her cunt; Hapi makes these adorable hitching sounds, like she’s choking on all the pleasure streaming from her cunt and through her body.

“Didi!” Constance is sharp as she raps his ass with her pointer. Dimitri shakes his head and looks at Constance, confused. “Your tongue-stroke was all wrong. Hapi needs a flicking pressure, not a broadside.”

Hapi glares at Constance. “He was doing _fine,_ Coco.”

“I would have made you come already, though,” Constance says, a bit miffed. “Move aside. Let me show you how it’s done, Didi.”

Yuri catches Dimitri’s eye and for once, Dimitri holds Yuri’s gaze for a moment before his head dips down in a smile.

* * *

“Ignore Coco, he’s _good_ ,” Hapi tells Yuri a few days later. “The thing where he looks at you like you’re his personal goddess is just… mind blown, y’know?” She makes exploding motions from the top of her head to illustrate.

Yuri appreciates Hapi; she’s too blasé to get particular about pleasure. If it’s good, she calls it good. She’s not some kinky perfectionist like Yuri.

Or worse, Constance.

Because Yuri is kinky—the inevitable result of a life as fucked up as his, Yuri figures—but Constance is _kinky._ It takes a certain special blend of super rich and super bored to be _kinky,_ but Constance, despite her fall from grace, still has it in her. Yuri assumes the same applies to Dimitri, who takes her odd requests with his usual total surrender of personal agency that’s starting to bother Yuri more lately.

“I placed Didi on a strict edging regimen,” Constance informs Yuri with the same gravity she’d announce an attack on Abyss’s gates. “Orgasm control is a critical component of any sexual training. I will provide you with a list of dates on which you may permit him to ejaculate, collated from a date randomization algorithm I wrote.”

Yuri has to sit on his hands to keep from smacking his forehead. “Constance,” he begins, “who the fuck have you sexually trained? I want names.”

“Oh, no one, but I found a guide buried in the forbidden archives of the library!” she says brightly. “Lady Cethleann’s Guide To Maximizing Erotic Potential. Can I rely on you to milk his balls at regular intervals?”

“If you mean I fuck him and he cums, then maybe, otherwise no,” Yuri groans. This is going to be a disaster.

“Next session we start position training!” Constance chatters happily, and then there are _diagrams._

* * *

“So like—” Yuri probably shouldn’t be starting this conversation while Dimitri is inside him. “—are you okay with all this?”

Dimitri thrusts up in _just_ that spot Yuri likes, his brow furrowing even as Yuri yelps. His brilliant eye ducks away as he considers the question. “Of course. I am— _ah!_ —stronger than you, aren’t I?”

“No, I mean— _hrrrrrrngh_ —the stuff with the others?”

They both have to pause because _fuck fuck fuck_ that’s good and based on Dimitri’s shout he’s right there with Yuri. “It is as I said. I’m stronger.”

Well yes, evidenced by the fact he’s holding Yuri in the air like he weighs nothing while fucking the daylights out of him. Why did Yuri avoid doing this again for so long? It’s so _easy_ he practically orgasms out of sheer laziness. “Yeah, but— _fuuuuuuuuuck!_ —sometimes I’m not sure and I—”

“If I didn’t want it, I could stop it,” Dimitri growls at him, with more force than Yuri’s seen in a long, long time. “So if I didn’t stop it, I must have— _oh, Seiros!_ ”

That’s Yuri’s cue to maybe orgasm his brains out and then pick this up later.

* * *

Speaking of orgasming brains out…

“You, uh, want me to help you with that?” Yuri pant-gasps out afterwards while lying on Dimitri’s chest, motioning to Dimitri’s still-hard cock.

Dimitri rumbles beneath him. “Pay it no mind.”

Maybe now is the time to pick this up, from a different angle. “You don’t seem to like cumming very much.”

There’s a stretch as Dimitri goes rigid underneath him. “It feels as if I am out of control. Keeping control of myself is important to me.”

The _literal prince_ who was whoring himself around Abyss and _willingly signed himself into sexual debt slavery_ thinks he’s _in control._ That does not fucking compute and Yuri’s pretty sure that wouldn’t change even without his having just been plowed like a barley field. Maybe this is some big-brain move Yuri’s too dumb to see, except Yuri isn’t dumb at all. Or maybe he _is_ too fucked-out to wrap his brain around it right now. That’s gotta be it.

So he pushes a little more. “I just wonder if this is all too much for you. This is pretty far from where you started in life.”

“It’s not up to me, is it?” Dimitri points out. “I signed a contract whose terms I must fulfill before you would release me.”

His arms tighten around Yuri, and yeah, maybe Yuri should take that as a warning, but… fuck. Yuri knows he’s getting in too deep. He hasn’t calculated Dimitri’s current debt in months. “You know if you wanted out—”

“There’s no way out of my contract but to repay my debt,” Dimitri says, more forceful, but with a high note of panic at the end.

“Okay, sure, fine,” Yuri says, stroking his arm. “I just… okay. Say you did repay it. Hypothetical only. What happens?”

There’s a long pause. “I have… obligations,” Dimitri confesses, swallowing, “obligations your contract prevents me from fulfilling.”

“Obligations to whom?” Yuri asks.

When the answer comes, it’s a hoarse, shattered thing, barely above a whisper. “To the dead. I must… I must avenge their deaths, at Duscur, at Garreg Mach, by cutting off the head of the woman who slaughtered them. They will not rest until her head hangs from the gates of Enbarr, and they are… displeased by this detour. Yet I am bound, by law and by honor, to fulfill my contract to you.”

Yuri thinks about this, and everything he’s seen of Dimitri these past years. He makes a decision. “You know, you broke the tavern table the other night while you were splitting up that bar fight. I need to add it to your tab. Plus the costs of the beer, and the mugs, and any ruined clothing…”

“Of course,” Dimitri agrees quickly, nodding along with enthusiasm. “Whatever I owe you, I must repay, on my honor as a Blaiddyd. Until I do, I am yours to do with what you see fit.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay, but that’s _really_ fucked up,” Hapi says over lunch the next day. She looks _relaxed_ relaxed, which means Dimitri was between her legs this morning instead of Constance, and Yuri’s chest wells with pride. “Didi’s using your fake-ish sex slave contract to keep himself from listening to the voices in his head telling him to run to Enbarr and kill Edelgard? Not that I object on principle to Edelgard dying, but…”

“Hey, the contract is legally binding,” Yuri protests. You don’t spend as much time as he has dealing with solicitors without getting a crash course in drafting contracts. Nor does he address the fact that yeah, he’s possibly mostly on accident turned the ex-Prince of Faerghus into his sex slave, because his body doesn’t know whether to revolt or orgasm forever at _that_ thought.

“Oh yeah, try taking that to the magistrate, buddy.” She sips the wine and cringes. “I think this one’s even worse than the last batch.”

“New supplier. The last guy’s vineyard is now covered in bodies,” Yuri says with an apologetic shrug. “Didi’s been organizing the latest group of refugees into the work groups and one of them told him.”

Hapi’s eyes narrow. “Don’t _you_ usually do that?”

“He’s better at it.” Still can’t look anyone in the eye, but everyone’s used to that now, and that whole ‘genuine kindness and respect for people’ bit wins scared refugees over way faster than Yuri’s ever managed. It’s kind of great, actually.

(They’ve gotten up to about a second of Dimitri being able to look him in the eye outside of sex. Sometimes. Okay, three times total. Yuri doesn’t push him there because Yuri pushes him enough already, and maybe Yuri’s just scared, scared that when Dimitri finally tells him everything, he’s going to want to burn the world down too.)

Hapi’s still staring at him. “What?”

“There are times in life I wish I could sigh dramatically,” Hapi tells him, shaking her head.

“Please don’t,” Yuri says. “Didi’s still got scars from that time you found Balthus in the mud puddle after he got kicked out of the Radigan casino.”

She doesn’t, but the _look_ in her eyes doesn’t go away except when she drinks the crap wine.

* * *

“So it’s working?” Dimitri asks one night after Yuri’s finished fucking him. It takes Yuri a bit off-guard—Dimitri’s still usually pretty spacey at this point, especially since he’s used those magic cuffs Constance gave him to hang Dimitri from the ceiling. He’s curled up in Yuri’s arms on the sofa right now, re-cuffed at his request. Once Constance hears about this, weird sex toys are going to start showing up by the cartload at Yuri’s door, and then he’s never getting any fucking work done again.

Yuri toys with Dimitri’s hair. It’s thicker and shining gold again, another byproduct of the higher rations Yuri orders Dimitri to eat. Food’s an ongoing battle between them, but Yuri, via Constance, wins more often than not. “Yeah, I think it bought us more time, letting them catch you sucking off Balthus. Still can’t believe you took that whole thing.”

Dimitri snuggles closer. “You’ve trained me well.”

He sounds so proud that Yuri’s heart twists. “There'll be more to come.”

“You will need me to… make myself available to other lieutenants, correct?”

“Hapi thinks we can get by with passing you around at parties and the occasional ‘special treat,’” Yuri replies. “Use you as some kind of fucked-up reward for exceptional work. I’d rather we go larger scale with fewer variables, like a glory hole or a gangbang.”

Dimitri’s laugh is a pleasant rumble against his chest. “I should be appalled by either prospect.”

“But you’re not?” Moments like this Yuri wonders why Dimitri’s still here. Why he hasn’t still opened the exit hatch. Gone back to the real world, his real world, where he leads rebellions and maybe finally cuts off Edelgard’s head. Fuck knows even Abyss is groaning under the weight of the dead widows and broken soldiers, the orphans and the dispossessed. Dimitri’s one of the few people on this continent who could fight back.

Except a month ago an Imperial squad came too close, and Yuri, with a heavy heart, _did_ ask Dimitri to fight back. Strode into battle beside him in his Blaiddyd armor and a silver lance Yuri engraved with the Ashen Wolves logo that Ignatz once drew for them, and Yuri’s sweet whore with his burning blue eye transformed into a spinning torrent of death that _raged_ against the Imperial incursion, cut down every last soldier and screamed for more.

Dimitri raged in their chambers for two days while Yuri patiently reminded him of the debt, of the obligations, of his honor, just as they’d discussed. After the fugue broke, he cried for three days more, and sometimes Yuri was crying beside him. He couldn’t lift his head for another two weeks.

Next time, Yuri will find another way if it _kills_ him.

“No,” Dimitri admits, cheeks red, but there’s a note of wonder there. His eyelid droops. “This is not the life I was raised to, but it is… ”

Dimitri never finishes that sentence, but Yuri kisses the top of his head and carries him to their bed. Yuri thinks he understands.

* * *

“I am pleased to inform you that our milking experiment has been quite successful,” Constance tells Yuri while they’re reviewing the most recent discoveries in the library archives. “We’ve already replicated the results twice with different edging schedules to keep Didi’s arousal levels high without impacting his day-to-day cognitive function. He appreciates the reduction in pressure on his testicles, while retaining heightened arousal, so that he is always ready for you to use him. Didi was quite explicit on that being our primary objective.” Constance pauses, thumping her quill to her mouth. “Since he is a sex slave, we could test higher benchmarks, as cognitive function is not a high priority, but I have found value in the insights Didi provides on my research. Also, he did my taxes.”

“Please don’t make Didi horny-dumb with your weird sexperiments. He’s taken over labor negotiations with the Sixteenth District gangs and I need him horny-smart.” Yuri sighs and downs his beer. And why is everyone using that term lately? At least the latest beer supplier isn’t so bad, even if it’s costing them thrice what it did before the war. He might have to sell yet another fake tip about Dimitri’s whereabouts to the Fraldarius dukedom just to cover costs. “Wait, you pay taxes?”

“As I intend to restore House Nuvelle to its former glory, it would be a stain on my honor if records showed I had not paid my share of the public burden,” Constance explains. “I am concerned that my regimen will be negatively impacted by Didi’s lack of motivation to orgasm.”

She opens her notebook and studies her latest observations. “Do you have any insights that could help me create a new incentive system for him?”

Nothing he’d share with Constance. At least with Hapi, Yuri’s never telling her anything she doesn’t either already know or will hear directly from Dimitri soon enough. They have an extremely close friendship outside Dimitri eating her pussy once or twice a week, whereas Dimitri’s connection with Constance, while strong, has a different rhythm. Dimitri submits to her almost as completely as he does to Yuri while they’re down in Abyss, but he’s her fiercest protector when they’re outdoors.

Yuri thinks Hapi knows a lot more about what’s going on in Dimitri’s head than she lets on, but Yuri’s content to let Dimitri decide when it’s time to give the blow-by-blow, even if that’s never.

(But he hopes it’s not never.)

“Hmph.” Constance revisits her notes. “Proper sex slave training is more complicated than Lady Cethleann’s guide led me to believe.”

“Stop calling him a sex slave,” Yuri says, ignoring Constance’s scoff and the gremlin in his brain laughing at him, “and is this what the aphrodisiac is for?”

“What? Oh, no. I just want Didi to fuck me like an animal, and that is how I intend to loosen his inhibitions.”

“ _No_ , Constance.”

“ _Whyyyyyy_ must you always stand in the way of scientific progress?!”

* * *

“Are you still going over those trade contracts?” Dimitri asks, padding up behind him. He rests his head atop Yuri’s, his arms coming around to embrace him.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Yuri mutters, but he’s smiling. “And yeah, I need to secure a cereal grain supply line that’s… that’s not as easily impacted by the war.”

A pause. “You can mention the Empire in front of me. I will not leave you before my debt is paid.”

Yuri leans back into Dimitri. He’s been getting bolder lately, seeking more closeness to Yuri even without sex. It’s… nice. Something that distinguishes what they have from the time Dimitri spends between atop Constance or between Hapi’s legs, or whatever the fuck it is he gets up to with Balthus. Something about sword-dick-fighting last time, Yuri doesn’t bother asking. On a whim, he kisses Dimitri’s elbow.

“It’s just… ” _The Empire isn’t going to be the one who takes you away from here._

“Would you object to my reviewing them for you? I’m a bit rusty but… ” He smiles, a bit sad. “I wish to be of use to you in any way I can, my bel—” He cuts himself off, coughing.

Yuri rubs his eyes. “Sure, yeah. Knock yourself out.”

Dimitri picks up Yuri, placing him on his lap as he works through the paperwork. Yuri leans into the crook of his neck, trying to follow Dimitri’s notations, but his eyes are growing heavy.

 _It’s… nice,_ Yuri thinks. It’s been nice. Working together to keep Abyss safe and fed, able to curl up and close his eyes for a moment as Dimitri picks up the baton. Not what Yuri ever expected from an ex-prince-turned-whore, but maybe…

Maybe he can keep his eyes closed a while longer, and maybe a warm pair of lips is pressing gently against his temple, and maybe, maybe, _maybe_ , this moment is everything and enough.

* * *

“Okay, but does everyone have to call Didi my sex slave?” Yuri asks Balthus during a sparring session. “He’s not some himbo with a great ass. I mean, he is, and his ass is _terrific_ , thank you for your assistance, but he also rewrote the 1184 budget proposal and saved us over 26000 florins in administrative costs, _and_ he rooted out that district council member taking kickbacks from the Empire.”

“You put a tracking collar around his neck and whore him out to your friends. What are we supposed to call him, your husband?”

Balthus has a point. Also a right hook incoming, so Yuri feints and pivots out of Balthus’s range, scoring a point when his sword pokes Balthus’s ribs. “It’s not like I could marry him, anyway. Neither of us could use our real names. He hasn’t even met my mom yet.”

“ _That’s_ where your mind goes? Holy shit dude, you got it _bad_.”

Not bad enough to glance away from that left-right cross combination.

But bad enough to miss the uppercut.

* * *

Later, when Dimitri is fussing over him like a mother hen, Yuri notices that the ringing in his ears sounds like the professor laughing.

(He lets Dimitri fuss, even though Balthus healed most of the damage after their session. It's… nice.)

* * *

“If I may,” Dimitri begins a few nights later, and he keeps his head up for a second longer than usual. A new record.

Yuri sighs and drops his quill. “We’ve been over this. Until my new desk is done being built, you’re too big to fit under there and blow me.”

“I—that was _not_ —” Whatever it was, it is _now,_ based on his expression. He clears his throat, but that doesn’t do shit for the glassy look in his eye or the tremble of his mouth.

Yuri smirks as his pants tighten. Guess he’s not getting this proposal done tonight. “I like that,” he says, smooth and warm, “how you get all scatterbrained at the thought of blowing me. Like I knocked all the thoughts out of your head with my cock.”

Dimitri whines, a shiver going through his body, and yeah, Yuri _does_ like it, and these are his favorite moments, the moments when Dimitri isn’t just being a whore for the sake of a contract or whatever fucked-up concept of self he’s assembled in his mind, he’s being a whore because he fucking _loves_ sucking Yuri’s cock, can’t get enough of Yuri’s cock, has literally fallen asleep at night sucking Yuri’s cock like a pacifier.

“You need it bad, don’t you?” Yuri says, his smile a barely-there curl. He’s seen lotus eaters who don’t have it as bad as Dimitri’s addiction to Yuri’s cock. “You need to suck me off.”

“I—” A gasp. “Yes. Yuri, please.”

“Say it,” Yuri instructs him. “Say what you need.”

“I—” He takes a deep breath, leans against the table to steady himself. “I need your cock,” and he’s still all flushed and stammer-y as the day they met, and it never gets Yuri harder than when he’s blushing like a virgin instead of the whore he’s made himself. Yuri loves nothing more than reminding Dimitri, grinding it into his brain that whatever brought him to Abyss, sucking Yuri’s cock is what keeps chained him here, warming Yuri’s bed, consort in Yuri’s fucked-up fiefdom.

“What do you need from my cock?” Yuri asks with a warm chuckle. “It’s pretty busy right now. You better be convincing.”

Dimitri knows this game by heart, and it’s evidence of how well Yuri’s got him trained that he can still be shy, so uncertain as he strips off his clothes (why does he ever wear clothes, why hasn’t Yuri forbidden him from wearing clothes yet?) and gets down on his hands and knees, all lean, rippling muscle somehow made more beautiful by the crisscrossing of scars over his pale skin. His cock’s hard and leaking, but goes ignored in favor of Dimitri being completely hypnotized by the bulge in Yuri’s pants. When he leans in to mouth said bulge, Yuri flicks his nose. “I haven’t heard you make a good case for why my cock should make time for your mouth.”

There’s the eye, burning and beautiful, and Yuri almost shucks his pants right there, if only to keep from spending in his pants like some naive boy. Like _Dimitri_. Yuri’s the one in control here. They both prefer it that way, and it’s time for Yuri to remind Dimitri why.

“Please,” Dimitri gasps with all that need and longing and devotion like a sucker punch to Yuri’s chest, “I need your cock, I need to suck it.”

“Tell me why,” Yuri says, running his fingers through Dimitri’s hair. It’s so long now, longer than Yuri’s, falls slightly past his shoulders, and Yuri makes him leave it down so he can always comb a hand through and grip it like a lead.

“Because—”

And here is the moment that Yuri lives for. The mangled sob, the tears streaming from that burning blue eye, the motherfucking Prince of Faerghus in that final moment before the calm acceptance settles over him and he whimpers: “Because I’m nothing but a whore for your cock.”

Fuck. _Fuck_ , that’s good. That’s a shot of everything good in this world straight into the veins. But Yuri’s never been one to settle for anything less than _more_. That’s what kept him alive. That’s what made Yuri a king in his own right, a king in the shadows, in the heart of the kingdom he built from nothing, not like the one Dimitri was born with and lost so carelessly.

Yuri wants to be more. He wants Dimitri to be even less.

“No. You’re less than a whore,” Yuri says, beatific as he strokes Dimitri’s chin, and oh, how fucking sweet it is when Dimitri melts into his touch like it’s bliss. “Whores get paid. You owe me more now than you did when you started. You’ll never pay me back. You’re addicted to my cock. You’re trapped here with me forever, and you know what that makes you? My _slave_.”

It takes Dimitri a moment to register that word. This is bigger than dirty talk. They’ve never really done things the “right” way, with safewords and conversations about limits. Their real agreement, Yuri understands now, is that Dimitri gives himself away in exchange for a shield against the demons only he can see and hear. This is an acknowledgment of what’s been, and a roadmap of what’s to come.

Because Yuri wants more.

Yuri always wants more, and he gets what he wants.

That’s why he’s the king.

“Yes,” Dimitri whispers, nodding, _ecstatic_. “Yes, Yuri. You’ve… enslaved me. You and your cock own me, I’m nothing more than a helpless slave to you and your cock… ”

And that’s why Dimitri is the one on his knees, a trueborn prince enslaved by a guttersnipe, his submission to Yuri so complete it will stain his soul for eternity.

Yuri releases his cock, and Dimitri whines, _whines_ like a hound in front of a steak. “Look at you, drooling at the sight of my cock. Pathetic. You were born a fucking _prince_ , handed everything on a silver platter, but all you want is _this._ ”

He hooks a finger in the tracking collar, smiling as he hears Dimitri gag at the sudden tightness around his neck. “I could squeeze the life of you, and you’d fucking let me, wouldn’t you? All this strength and power, and you gave yourself away to the first person who treated you like the weak little slave you are.”

Dimitri freezes. Then his burning eye turns to ice, and for a moment, Yuri is viscerally aware which one of them was born in the gutter, and which one of them was born to rule the world above. “No,” he says, clear, strong in a way Yuri has never heard before. Dimitri tilts his head up and looks Yuri directly in the eye. “I gave myself to someone who deserves everything. _I give myself to my beloved,_ and every day I thank the goddess he has not yet seen fit to release me.”

No Yuri’s the one choking, drowning, falling, because that’s not right, that’s not right, Yuri dragged Dimitri down beneath him, but this feels like Dimitri lifting Yuri up to the skies instead. Dimitri is the one with the beautiful burning eye, Dimitri is the one who remembers the sick citizens’ names even better than Yuri, Dimitri is the one who holds him through his nightmares and lets Yuri hold him through his own. Yuri’s never supposed to leave the gutter, but in this moment, he thinks he could ascend to heaven.

But Yuri always ends up back in the gutter, and Dimitri, well… one day destiny will find him again, and sweep him away from Abyss. There’s nothing Yuri can do to change that.

Right now, though, at this moment… Dimitri belongs to him, and him alone.

So Yuri kisses him.

They don’t kiss very often. Yuri’s spent most of his sex life as a whore, and whores don’t get kissed. Then Dimitri was the whore at Yuri’s feet, and Yuri never got kissed, so neither does Dimitri.

He kisses Dimitri now, though, tugs that collar up to his mouth and leans forward and it’s beautiful, beautiful, he tastes like good beer and copper and fruit and _Dimitri_ ; he tastes like the salvation Yuri’s never going to find. Fuck, Dimitri’s tongue around Yuri’s tongue and Yuri’s tongue around Dimitri’s tongue is something he’s never going to be able to exist without ever again. In the days that come, he will spend hours sweeping every inch of Dimitri’s mouth with his own.

Because Yuri, who always wants more, and always gets what he wants, might’ve finally found something not even he can steal.

(But that won’t stop him from trying.)

So he pulls out his cock, because right now that’s what his whore, _his slave,_ needs. “I think you’ve more than earned this.”

Dimitri takes his cock with a new intensity; for once, his burning blue eye is not on Yuri, but rolled back in his skull too far for Yuri to see. He’s so completely lost in the sensation, dedicated in his worship, that Yuri still sees the burning blue painted beneath his own eyelids. When Yuri finally comes, Dimitri swallows as much as he can, drops spilling out the corners of his mouth as his hips thrust forward and he spills across the cold stone.

Yuri’s whore, Yuri’s slave—Yuri’s _Dimitri_ —looks up at him with that perfect, terrifying adoration, licking the corners of his lips to catch the final drops of Yuri’s seed. So Yuri pulls him off the ground and leads him to their bed, Dimitri’s head resting in the crook of Yuri’s neck.

“Did I… was I good?” Dimitri asks in cracked, halting tones, terrified. Shaking in Yuri’s arms as he sits up and looks Yuri directly in the eye. That burning blue eye, riveting Yuri into place, making Yuri the center of Dimitri’s universe, and Dimitri the center of Yuri’s.

There’s only one answer he can give.

“You’re perfect,” Yuri says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Barbaradentro and the original OP whose prompt inspired this story. I would love to hear your feedback, especially since I now ship the fuck out of this and might come back for more.


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